Fifteen Minutes
by lady-emeraldeyes09
Summary: John knows all too well that Sherlock is married to his work. It has been six weeks since Sherlock started on a new case, and John has never been so frustrated in his life. (Lots of Johnlock slash fluff.)


Six weeks.

John was certain of it.

It had been six weeks since the last time Sherlock had fucked him senseless.

Usually Sherlock was tender and slow and left him breathless and begging for more, delaying his release until he could take it no longer and was screaming Sherlock's name.

Sometimes Sherlock would lose himself and unleash all his frustration on him, not stopping to say a word but instead spelling out his angst in scratches along John's chest and abdomen.

Occasionally they would switch places, and John thoroughly enjoyed Sherlock's unhinged expressions of ecstasy that intensified with each thrust.

But John would never forget the last time Sherlock had taken him.

::-::-::

It was in the wee hours of the morning, six weeks ago, just before the colors of dawn had begun to appear in the sky. John couldn't sleep. Sherlock had awoken and put on his dressing gown, padding quietly into the kitchen to make tea. John watched him from his seat in the sitting room, appreciating the slight wiggle Sherlock's hips made under the blue silk when he walked.

To distract himself, John got up from his seat and went over to the window, peeking out at the dim street lights that guided the late night street walkers below. Suddenly he felt Sherlock's hand at his waist and his breath at the base of his throat. "I seem to recall the perfect strategy for helping you sleep," Sherlock had whispered into his neck. Chills had arisen all over his body – Sherlock knew very well the effects his baritone voice had on John. "Don't make a sound or they'll see us."

John peered down at the people on the sidewalk. Sherlock was right; one loud noise and they could look up and see him pressed against the thin glass, nearly exposed to the street. The thrill of it had his heart racing and his cock responded instantly. The hand on his hip pulled him closer, pressing him into Sherlock's pelvis.

John watched Sherlock's reflection in the glass as he expertly tore open the gold foil condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand. A familiar plastic popping noise made him smile. "Since when do you keep lube in your dressing gown?"

Sherlock had covered John's mouth with his cold hand, silencing him. "Hush, I never know when I'll need it. Like now, for example." John had nearly jumped when he felt Sherlock's lubricated fingers slowly slip inside him, one at a time, gently stretching him out and massaging his sweet spot over and over until Sherlock had four fingers inside him and he was completely relaxed. A thin drop of clear pre-cum dripped onto his foot and John ached to touch himself. Sherlock's fingers vanished and were quickly replaced with the head of his smooth cock. John waited for Sherlock to proceed, since he wasn't feeling any pain, but Sherlock had frozen.

"What are you doing?" John's voice was muffled behind Sherlock's hand, and Sherlock began to inch his way back out, causing John to whimper with disappointment.

"I want you to beg me, John. Convince me to fuck you like you want me to." John began to speak but Sherlock tightened his grip on John's mouth. "Don't be too loud or they'll hear you. Do you see them, John?" John didn't respond. "I said _do you see them?_" Finally he nodded. "Do you want them to see us like this?" John shook his head. "I didn't think so." Sherlock inched his way back into John, agonizingly slow, and when he suddenly stopped John began breathing rapidly.

"Please, Sherlock – " John's muffled voice was quiet and pleading, almost pitiful.

"What was that?" Sherlock's smile grew and he removed his hand from John's mouth, repositioning it at his throat.

"Sherlock, _please!_" John shouted without thinking, and the sound carried down to a woman on the street. John was extremely grateful it was still dark outside; she looked away, but the girl's gesture did not go unnoticed. Sherlock laughed and pressed himself closer to John, slowly edging further inside him for a few seconds before stopping again.

"I told you they can hear you, John. _Now_ _beg_." The last two words were a low growl.

John couldn't remember Sherlock being like this before, as if he was getting off on giving John orders. Maybe it was his fatigue-driven mind, but John loved it. He was used to Sherlock commanding people around (usually it was one- or two-word commands like 'be quiet!' or 'out!') but this was different. John was so awestruck by it that he couldn't speak, no matter how much Sherlock wanted him to.

Sherlock had responded to his silence with one long thrust, burying his cock to the hilt inside John. He used his free hand to pull John as close to him as he could by the front of his hip, inches from John's own aching erection. John moaned loudly and was thankful no one outside heard him this time. John made a motion to stroke himself and ease his longing for release.

"No," Sherlock growled at him. "You are to come by me alone, or not at all. You have precisely three minutes and forty-five seconds to come before I do and that's your last opportunity until I say otherwise. Understand?"

John nodded, swallowing against Sherlock's grip on his throat.

Sherlock pulled back and thrust in again, and the two of them moaned in unison. "_Fuck, _John," Sherlock sighed. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for three days."

John was lost in Sherlock's words, and his legs nearly buckled from underneath him when Sherlock began his nearly-frantic rhythm. His vision swam, his heart raced, and it took less than a minute to bring him over the edge, spilling his seed in thick spurts onto the cold, frosted window. Sherlock took this opportunity and picked up into a furious pace, gripping John's throat tighter and biting the tender skin on his shoulder. John's body was becoming more and more sensitive post-climax, and Sherlock's thrusting was almost more than he could bear – but it was the most incredible feeling at the same time. A second climax built up, to John's surprise, and released the instant Sherlock's own did. The two of them shouted at the top of their lungs, screaming expletives and growing weaker with each breath. Together they stumbled to their leather couch, flopping down to hold each other.

John had fallen asleep that morning at dawn, his face buried in Sherlock's sweat-drenched dressing gown.

::-::-::

Now John was forced to watch Sherlock as he darted around yet another crime scene, completely immersed in The Job and therefore oblivious to any and all of the rest of his body's functions for the past six weeks. He mumbled something to Lestrade and practically flounced over to John, giddy with pride at solving yet another murder. John's arms were crossed.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "Am I doing it again?"

"Doing what?"

"Showing off. You know I'm terrible to show off. Not that I can blame myself, I _am _the best." Sherlock's dazzling smile nearly made John forget his thoughts, but John's expression made the smile fade. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing," John insisted. "I'm just glad you finally solved the murder, is all. It's been over a month since Lestrade came barging down our door again. Blimey, you'd think they'd hire you since they're always coming to you for help."

"I couldn't do it for money, John, you know that. I love it too much for it to be work." Sherlock took John's hand and walked with him towards the main street. "But I know that's not what's bothering you. I can read your anger in your mouth and your sexual frustration in your eyes. I've told you before; you're practically an open book to me."

John was livid. "Piss off, Sherlock! You know damn well what's wrong with me." He turned to walk away and Sherlock caught him by the wrist. John tried to pull loose but Sherlock's grip was too strong. Sherlock led him to a narrow gap between two buildings and pinned him to one of the brick walls, his face a breath away from John's.

"Fifteen minutes." Sherlock's eyes bore through him.

"Fifteen – what are you…"

"Fifteen minutes, John. You have a fifteen minute head start to get back to Baker Street. If you make it there before I do, you can fuck me however you want. God help you if I catch you on the way there, because if I do, I will fuck you where you stand, whether there are people around or not. I seem to recall you enjoy the thrill of thinking you might get caught." He smiled down at John, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"But our flat is thirty minutes across town in a cab, Sherlock!"

"Fourteen minutes and fifty seconds. I suggest you hurry." Sherlock released his grip, and John couldn't move. His eyes bugged out of his head in disbelief.

"Fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds, John."

John took off at a run, calculating a plan. He knew that Sherlock knew London's layout better than the best cab driver, so that was out. His best chance was to use something very public – the Underground, perhaps, it was faster than running – and just do the best he could. He found himself laughing out loud at the excitement of the chase. Usually a situation like this would scare him, but this was Sherlock Holmes, the man who had to be in control at all times, the man that had shown him that love was a multidimensional spectrum and it's impossible to define. Sherlock was also a man of his word, so John knew better than to dismiss anything he says.

At last he came to the stairs that led down to the Underground, and – _shit_! The doors had just closed and it had started to take off. John fled back up the stairs and started running again. His mobile vibrated in his pocket and he answered it without stopping.

"Nine minutes and seventeen seconds."

John hit the 'end' button and began to sprint with all his might. He knew there was still at least a half-hour run back to Baker Street, and that was only if his strength held. The very thought of Sherlock catching up to him gave him a shot of adrenaline and he laughed again as the cold February wind stung his face. Street after street flew by him in a flash of color, his heart racing as fast as his feet.

He darted down a narrow alleyway, and suddenly a figure stood before him. John had to quickly stop himself before he ran head-on into it. He tripped clumsily over his feet, and the figure dipped down to catch him right before he fell to the ground.

Sherlock's smug face smirked down at him, his thick black hair blowing fiercely in the wind.

"We have _got_ to stop meeting like this, Doctor Watson."

Sherlock lifted him effortlessly and pinned him face-first to the wall, his lips at John's ear.

"I warned you I would fuck you where you stood if I caught you before you got to Baker Street." Sherlock could sense John's adrenaline levels rising again, and he ran his gloved fingers through John's short hair and pulled slightly. "I mean what I say, John."

John smiled; he knew this was coming and it didn't scare him one bit. Sherlock was right again, because he _did_ enjoy the thrill of secretly being taken from behind while people walked by unaware.

"How did you know where I was?" John groaned when Sherlock's weight shifted to press him harder into the brick wall.

"Simple. I knew you would take the fastest cardinal direction to Baker Street, which was directly northeast from where we had been, and I know your top running speed is precisely eight point seven miles per hour, so given the wind resistance and current foot and vehicle traffic, this was statistically the most likely place I could intercept you. Obviously."

John's heart sped up – it turned him on when Sherlock used his deduction skills. He recalled several occasions in which Sherlock's powers of deduction made him interrupt a case to bend him over his note-covered desk.

In less than a minute Sherlock had his condom on, and he quickly applied lube to himself before pulling the back of John's trousers and pants down and easing into him. There was no time for stretching, John knew, and he pursed his lips and breathed deeply until the slight burning pain subsided. At least half a dozen people walked by while he tried to relax, so Sherlock, sensing his unease, stepped sideways slightly to cloak John with his coat. John leaned his head back into Sherlock's chest, breathing him in. Sherlock stroked the side of his face and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Are you alright, John?" Despite the level of control Sherlock had demanded over their current situation, he still showed concern for John's level of discomfort.

"Yes, I'm fine." He grunted and Sherlock wrapped his arms protectively around his chest. "Just start moving, it feels better now." Sherlock slowly drew back and thrust forward gently, and John smiled. "Oh _god_, Sherlock, _just like that_." John lifted his head up and braced himself against the brick wall, spreading his legs apart a bit more.

Sherlock began his rhythm, supporting himself with one arm around John's waist and the other against the wall, still blocking John from view of the street. Each thrust made Sherlock strengthen his hold on him. John rolled his head back onto Sherlock's chest again, and Sherlock bent his head down beside his, where they shared private expressions of ecstasy as their climaxes built. Sherlock unzipped John's zipper and began to stroke him, and within seconds John was consumed with an earth-shattering orgasm, nearly drawing attention when he cried out. John's internal muscular spasms brought Sherlock to his own mind-blowing climax, holding tight to John so he wouldn't fall over.

Finally it was all over and the two of them fumbled with their trousers before someone saw them. John turned around to face Sherlock, and the two of them burst into raucous laughter when they locked eyes.

"We simply _must_ do this again sometime, Doctor Watson." Sherlock smiled at him and whirled around, his jacket flowing in the wind. John had to run to catch up with him before the cab he got into pulled away. John wanted to be angry but Sherlock took his hand in the backseat of the cab and gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze. "_Later_," he whispered, as if a secret.


End file.
